Time Will Kill You: Det. Lt. Nick Storie Mysteries, #12

By C. D. Moulton

Critic comment 2019: I was reading a few older books from my mother's collections. This was among them.
I do critiques of many books for groups, and make recommendations as to what I feel is worthy of buying. I must admit that more than half of the things I'm asked about are not worth the price – even many of the free eBooks are overpriced. It is far too easy to self-publish today, and works of value are far too often totally overlooked.
I have not seen manuscripts as well-worth reading as this one in two years, if not longer.
There are no descriptions of bloody, vulgar violence, no karate matches so far from reality as to become humorous, no vulgarity for the sake of vulgarity. In short, just a very able and likeable cop doing his job.
This is the first I have read by Moulton, and will not be the last. I like all the people at South Station. They are human. If all of the Nick Storie Mysteries are of the quality of these, I would recommend them as a TV series.
I am contacting Moulton through his publisher and suggesting, considering how today's market is for shorter works, that Time Will Kill You be offered as a single work.
Joyce Anniston Levenstahl

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. D. Moulton
• Release date: Aug 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201755171

Book preview

Prologue

Jane Warfield sighed, held the sheet of plastic over her head and ran for the little car parked (naturally!) clear out by the road – as far from the door to her office as she could get.

Well, she knew it might rain when she parked it there. No one was to blame but herself, so grin and bear it!

She had the key ready, opened the door, and slid in under the wheel. She removed the package from under the flap in her purse and slipped it back under the seat, started the car, and headed into the storm. It would be good to get home where it was warm and dry. The biggest problem with this business was days like this. Nothing had gone right all day. It wouldn't start now.

Maybe she'd make a profit. It was about time! That was one turkey who was going to wake up wondering what the hell had smacked him! Sleazeball jerk!

She pulled into the garage at her condo, swore at the car in her space, and pulled on into the open visitor's area, found a reasonably dry spot, parked, and got out. The elevator was empty, for a rare change. She managed to get to the sixth floor without having to listen to old lady Winton's latest aches and pains or to old man Robert's suggestively vulgar insulting little innuendo-filled sexist diatribes.

No one saw her going up to 604 to open it. She went inside, swearing at the open window that had let just enough rain blow in to make the rug smell like a dirty wet dog. She was certain she'd closed it.

Something was definitely very wrong here! Someone had been in her apartment and had left that window open! Why? Why would anyone open the window? It was a sheer six-story drop outside.

The desk was a mess.

She went to the phone to call the manager. This had to stop – and right now! She couldn't have this kind of thing, not in her business.

She heard a noise in the bedroom and turned.

Then, nothing.

Chapter one

Line two, Nick! Vic, desk sgt. on duty at the south station said on the intercom eight minutes after Homicide Det. Lt. Nathaniel Nick Storie came on duty. Nick picked up the receiver, punched line 2, and said, Storie. Homicide.

This is Lucille Byrd. I'm manager of Skyline Royalview Condos on the island, came back. I heard an odd noise over the phone, then the woman, Jane Warfield, sort of gurgled and the line went dead. I called back and didn't get an answer and came up here. She was laying by the phone, dead! There's a piece of rope around her neck!

"Don't touch anything! Be sure no one enters the room!

You are calling from her phone?

Yes, I ... oh, dear! Someone hung it up! The killer! And I ... oh, dear!

The killer was probably wearing gloves, but be sure that no one else goes into that room! What is the number?

The apartment? Six oh four.

We're on the way!

Nick called forensics, gave Dr. Tiny Menthorne the address, and headed out for the condo. It was a dreary dismal day – or night, if you considered the light level. Nick came on duty at six and it was already dark, what with the cloud cover at this time of year.

The condo building was pretty much like any other in the area. Overpriced and poorly maintained. Probably had a lot of phony snob appeal. People could brag about how much they got stuck for the place.

Nick noticed the parking space labeled #604 was empty. He parked his Trans Am in it and headed for the elevator to the left of #600 and punched for 6. The car stopped at four and a sour older woman got on, said she hated this kind of weather. It made her arthritis hurt and her sinuses clog. She said she should have moved to Arizona instead of Florida, with which Nick agreed. She didn't know how to take that, so didn't say anything else.

Nick got off the elevator, noticing the wet marks on the strip rug by the doors. Three sets. A woman was standing beside the door of #604. She introduced herself as the manager. Everybody called her Lucy – and she'd never get over going in and finding her like that.

I'll look over the scene and come back out here until the coroner arrives. You say she called you on the phone, made a gurgling noise, and the line went dead?

Well, she hung it up. It didn't go dead in the sense there was nothing there. I called back and she didn't answer, so I came straight up.

Nick nodded and went inside. The body was laying beside the phone stand, about three feet from a narrow door he could see a bed and chair through. There wasn't much sign of a struggle.

The victim was attractive, of medium height and weight, had dark hair, and was wearing a business suit.

Nick quickly went through the rooms, noticing very little out of sync. Details, such as the damp rug under the window. The window was closed and locked. That would have to be explained. The frosted glass didn't show anything from inside. He opened it to look out, noting the six story drop to the outside parking lot. There were only two cars and a minivan out there.

There was a little red plastic rain hood on the straightback chair by the entrance. Nothing else of any significance. There was a wet spot beside it where something else had been.

Nick saw she wore a little watch in a pendant. It was face down. He turned it over. It was an older mainspring-operated type, possibly fairly valuable. It had stopped at 5:41. That probably meant nothing. She might have worn it simply as jewelry. She had a wrist watch that read the same as his own. Nick merely noted it.

Tiny soon came in immediately behind Frog Forest, the forensics ace photographer, who was panning around the room with a camcorder. Nick didn't have to make suggestions to Frog. He wouldn't miss an inch. Nobody in the business was better than Frog.

Lovely evening, Nick, Tiny (6'6 and 345#+) greeted. It looks like it might clear up next week – or the next!

"Jane Arlene Warfield, PI, if you didn't know. She's had a run-in or two with Ed on a B and E, one a few days ago. The guy suddenly dropped all charges, after talking to her privately for about one half minute. He all of a sudden 'remembered' he'd said something to her she might have interpreted as permission.

"I was there because a woman had OD'ed in an apartment a few doors farther along the hall. Ed was called about the same time and came over with his crew. She was inside and the guy – what was his name? Knowles!

"So anyhow, Ed's crew found her hiding in the restroom. She talked to Knowles, and he said it was all a big mistake. Ha, ha!

She found something."

Thanks, Tiny. That might help to explain why something's not here that should be. I already spotted a couple of things. I'll need a very close time of death if you can give it.

Pretty close. It was less than two hours I can tell you from this far away.

Nick went out into the hall and asked Lucy if Jane owned a car, used taxis, or had some other arrangements.

She has a car. It'll be in the space downstairs marked six oh four. She was a private detective. She had to have her own transportation. It's one of those foreign things. They all look alike to me. Sort of dark maroon.

What kind of work did she do? Divorce?

No. She wouldn't take that kind of thing. She found people and property, I think. Insurance claims. That sort of thing.

"Well, let's take a short statement now, while it's fresh, then I'll take a formal one later. I really don't know what to ask, at this point.

"She called you, gurgled, and hung up. You came directly up here and found her.

Was her door open?

It was closed, but not locked. I knocked, called, and came in. There she was.

How long before you called me?

Immediately!

You stayed right here until I arrived?

Yes. Right by the door.

Thanks. You don't need to stay around for ... did you see anyone at all from when you came here to wait until I arrived?

She thought a few seconds. Just Charley Borden. He came home and was going into his apartment just as I came in. Six oh nine. And Mr. and Mrs. Kline went out about five minutes before you got here. Six oh two. That's all.

Thanks! I'll talk to you again!

A quick check with Tiny, where Nick learned she'd been dead for no more than two hours nor less than an hour and a half. Nick's watch said seven twenty six. Interesting.

Nick said he'd hang around if Tiny wanted him